


miss (him) like you miss no other

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Smut, Humor, I know im writing ryden in 2015 i dont care, M/M, Rekindling love!!!!!!! fuck, Ryden, Rydon, after 2009
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 22:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3996283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's post split, present day, and brendon gets defensive about ryan on a periscope with his fans. after some urging, he contacts ryan again, and things start to get......intense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. what the fuck happened in cape town?

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i know it's 2015 i'm writing ryden blah blah blah i have a lot of feelings still

Brendon closed the Periscope app and threw his phone across to the couch. He crossed his arms and huffed. Keeping close contact with the fans was the very least he could do, considering all that they’ve ever done for him. After all, they made him famous, brought him to glory, allowed him to do what he loved for a living. But sometimes talking to them could be a strain.

Sarah plopped down on the couch across from Brendon and smiled slightly, head cocked and an eyebrow raised. “What happened?”

Brendon waved his hand dismissively. “It’s nothing.”

“You’ve gotten irritated about the Periscope stuff before, but never like this.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and avoided eye contact with his wife. Still, he could feel her bright blue eyes searing holes into his head. She was right, something did happen. This woman knew everything about him and could read him like a book. But whenever shit like this came up, he was still ashamed to tell her. 

Brendon could see her cross her legs and lean forward towards him. She sighed. “I heard you say his name. It’s the first time you’ve actually said it in months.” Sarah snorted a small laugh. “For a while, Ryan was worse than Voldemort.” 

“He’s not worse than _Voldemort_ , like, I mean, Voldemort is pretty bad, man. Like, awful. He killed people, Sarah. Ryan never killed anyone. It’s cool. It’s cool, really like —”

“ _Brendon_ ,” Sarah said, exasperated, and cutting him off. “What the hell happened?”

Rolling his head back in unison with his eyes, Brendon groaned and said, “I don’t know, they called him a pussy, and fuck, fucking Ryan isn’t a pussy. I kind of hate him but he’s not a pussy. He writes like a pussy but that’s just who he is. He’s got a poet’s soul, you know? So talented, though, I wish I could write like him. But anyway, I don’t want people insulting him.” Brendon looked back to Sarah. She looked concerned. 

“Listen, I’ve told you before, it’s okay for you to still love him,” she said, reaching over to him.

He put up his hands and shook his head. “No, no, I _don’t_ love him. I don’t. I didn’t, really, ever. Really. We were just…kids. Silly kids.”

Sarah mirrored his movements, looking bemused. “Okay honey, if that’s what you want to believe.” She stood up and stretched. “I’m gonna make dinner. Or roll a blunt. Or both.” Giggling, she skipped away. 

“ _Uggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhh_ ,” Brendon groaned before flopping over on the chaise. There were a long list of things he never wanted to ever deal with again, and his unresolved feelings for Ryan was up there, only under severe food poisoning from bad clams and Mormonism. He rubbed his eyes. Most days, he can avoid the thoughts. Most days, he is happy. He has an amazing, beautiful wife, a dream job, a dream house, great friends, great pets…He’s living a fantasy life. Despite that, he sometimes remembers the days he and Ryan jumped into Ryan’s rickety old car and drove out to the desert near Vegas and didn’t stop until they thought the car would run out of gas or break down. Occasionally it would overheat and they would get out, laughing, and poured water on the engine, on each other, and kissed in the sandy daylight. Sometimes, being nothing could mean everything. Before they blew up, they would spend hours in Spencer’s basement trying to get their sound right; Ryan half-assedly trying to direct everyone as Brendon, in his ever-present hyperactivity, was all but bouncing off the walls. It was fun. 

But that’s all it was, it was fun. They were kids, and that’s what they did. He and Ryan weren’t even technically together, they just fooled around. Friends with benefits at best. Confused teenagers at worst. He never loved Ryan, he didn’t, he never did. At least that’s what he told himself. That’s what he wrote in his songs. That’s what he said to Ryan on their last day of tour in Cape Town. 

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, yanking Brendon out of his reminiscing. He remained on the couch and listened as Sarah let Spencer in, listening to their talking and the frenzied, excited barking of his dogs. After the pleasantries, Spence and Sarah lowered their voices, and he knew exactly what they were talking about. But it was unnecessary, it was so unnecessary. He was fine. Brendon fucking Urie was fine. 

Spencer walked into the living room with a loud “HELLO BRENDON” and he perched on the arm rest of the couch, smiling somewhat condescendingly at Brendon. 

“What did Sarah tell you,” Brendon asked flatly.

“Oh, you know, everything.”

Brendon sat up and crossed his arms. “Okay, so, whatever.”

“You write _songs_ about him. You miss him like you miss no other.” Spencer narrowed his eyes, his smile never once faltering. 

“It’s ‘you miss _them_ like you miss no other.'”

“Suuuuuuure.”

“Fuck you, man, you’re fired.”

“I already left the band.”

“Still, fuck you, you’re fired as my friend.”

Spencer drew in a breath, his brow furrowing. His smile slowly turned into a half frown, and he said, “Look up the lyrics to _Cape Town_ , would you? The one Ryan wrote? Look it up.” He stood up and went back into the kitchen with Sarah. Brendon grunted in response when Spencer left the room. He rolled onto his side and tried to reach across to the couch to retrieve his phone. He really did not want to get up. Moving half his body off the chair, he strained towards the phone, before finally falling face-first into the carpet. He remained there for a few seconds, contemplating the horrors of existence and how hard life could be before pulling himself off the floor and grabbing his phone. Plopping down on the couch, he opened up Safari and searched “ _cape town lyrics the young veins_.” He swore his hands weren’t shaking.

> __  
> I hardly knew a thing about you  
>  I got lost in Capetown  
>  in Capetown
> 
> _I saw you_  
>  I met you  
>  I loved you  
>  I left you  
>  In Capetown 

Brendon bit his lip and exited the browser. Then, he opened a new message to the number Spence had given him months ago and typed: _hey whats up_


	2. almost, once again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things get nasty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm still trash.

Somewhere between consciousness and sleep, Brendon was roused by a loud buzzing on his bedside table. Confused, he rubbed his eyes, and glanced over to where Sarah lay beside him, asleep. He got out of bed carefully, not to wake her, and brought his phone downstairs.   
Bogart greeted him at the bottom of stairs, panting happily and rubbing against his legs. Weird dog. 

He hadn’t yet checked the time because he was too nervous to check the text preview on phone, but he knew it was late. Or early. Or something. He grabbed the butt end of a joint from the ashtray on the table and walked on to his porch. The LA night was cool and perfect. He pulled over a chair and tried to sit on it, but mostly ended up squatting, and the chair happened to be under his butt. Perching his elbows on his knees, he lit the joint and took a deep drag. That’s really all there was to get out of it at this point. Needing to be high for this wasn’t ridiculous, was it? It couldn’t possible be. Unless this isn’t Ryan texting him back, and he was worrying for nothing. The entire night he was anxiously checking his phone. Spencer and Sarah noticed, but didn’t say anything. There was nothing to be said. Everyone knew. It was a silent understanding. 

Snuffing the blunt out under his flip flop, Brendon closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then unlocked his phone. It was 3:36am. His thumb was shaking so hard he could barely manage to tap the Messages icon. 

The text from Ryan Ross read as follows:

**_Hey. Been a while._**

Brendon took a deep breath and quickly tapped out a reply.

_yeah i know. im sorry_

**_Why’re u texting me all of a sudden?_**

_dunno been thinking abt u_

He waited for a second and then followed the text with:

_why the hell r u up this early. late. u kno._

**_Why have you been thinking about me B? It’s been like…a while. And why are YOU up so early/late?_**

Brendon couldn’t help but crack a smile. It was almost like old times.

Almost.

_some1 mentioned u in this periscope thing i was doing and i dunno. made me wanna see how ur doing. and im only awake bc ur text woke me up_

About five minutes passed with no reply, and Brendon was getting nervous. It was hard to read Ryan in person, and over text it was basically impossible. He couldn’t help but worry that he said something wrong. But why the hell was he getting worked up about saying something wrong to his former guitarist (best friend) (lover) (whatever)? This shouldn’t worry him. They were just catching up. They had both been standoffish, and after the incident with the stalker, the two of them have been hesitant to contact the other. That’s what Brendon believed. That’s what he told himself. 

Sarah’s words still rang in his head, Ryan “He Who Shall Not Be Named” Ross. Goddammit.

Finally, Ryan texted back. Brendon scrambled to open it (why why why). 

The text contained an address and a simple statement. 

**_Come over._**

Brendon froze. He had no idea where this could be leading. Come over? At almost 4am?

Actually, Brendon knew _exactly_ where this was leading. The problem was he just didn’t care. 

Grabbing a sweatshirt on his way out, Brendon grabbed his keys and realized that, yes, he was driving over to his ex’s house at 4am in loose sweatpants, a ratty sweatshirt, and absolutely no underwear. He just prayed that Ryan had condoms.

Oh God he shouldn’t be doing this. He really shouldn’t. He knew Sarah didn’t care. She had said it over and over. She understood. She was a saint. Saint Sarah and Ryan Voldemort. And then there was him. Brendon Boyd Urie. Ex-Mormon half-Hawaiian Disney loving loser Brendon Boyd Urie who got famous on Ryan Ross’s words and a lucky voice. Ryan wasn’t Voldemort. Brendon was the Dark Lord here. With all this running through his mind, he was almost too distracted to drive halfway across the city to Ryan’s stupidly artful loft. 

Almost.

He sent up a quick prayer to a God he may or may not believe in that Sarah wouldn’t wake up and freak out, because he didn’t leave a note, and fuck, he did _not_ want to text her. With a swift punch to his leg, he got out of his car and walked up to the doorbell. Ryan buzzed him up almost immediately. 

_He was waiting for me_ , Brendon thought with a smile, before quickly pushing the thought away. They were just gonna _talk_ , maybe smoke a little, just like old times. And they might talk with their dicks, but whatever. Brendon shrugged and then took the plunge and knocked on Ryan’s door.

Ryan opened the door before he had the chance to rap on the door twice. And there he was. Ryan.

He had…changed a lot since the last time Brendon saw him. He purposely never Googled him or looked on Twitter or Instagram. In his everyday life, he did everything to keep Ryan out of it. Until now, of course. Now he was standing in his doorway and…God, he was beautiful. His new haircut suited his round face much better than the Beatles-esque bowl cut. Now, it was buzzed on the sides and the back, a lot like Brendon’s, except Ryan’s hair was thicker and more unruly. He looked like a greaser. A really hot one. The ever-present look of concern was there on his face, still. One thing Brendon could recognize. Ryan was dressed in tapered leather jeans and a gray band t-shirt whose logo Brendon couldn’t place in the dim light of the building. 

“Late night?” Brendon asked with a smirk.

The concerned look fell away from Ryan’s face and his lips curled up in his fan-girl famous half-smile. 

It was famous to Brendon, too.

“Romp life, dude,” he answered, moving aside to let Brendon into the loft. 

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I like to have fun.”

“You’re a partier now?”

Ryan laughed. “Yeah, me, a partier. I spend most of my time at the animal sanctuary.” He sat down on his his white couch. The only light in the room was coming from a dim lap on a side table, accompanied by what moonlight could strain through the shades. He motioned for Brendon to have a seat beside him.

Brendon did. “Nice place.”

“Thanks! I’ve always loved lofts. I wanted something, you know, artsy. The asshole that I am.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. It’s just like old times. Just like old times. Almost.

Brendon bit his lower lip, and released it slowly. He caught Ryan’s eyes glancing downward for a second, and he knew why Ryan invited him here. But he didn’t care. He wanted it. “Why’d you tell me to come over, Ry?”

Ryan let out air through his nose, a tight quick huff, before looking away from Brendon. “I wanted to see you.”

“How much of me?”

Even though the room was dark, he could see Ryan blush. It was easy to see, even in minimal light. His whole face and neck reddened, especially the tips of his ears. Looking back at Brendon, he said, “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Brendon whispered, leaning in.

“Fuck you, though, by the way.”

“Yes, please, actually.”

Ryan gasped and Brendon closed the gap between their lips. The kiss was hard and greedy. It had been more than six years since the last time they kissed, and oh God, there was nothing like it. Brendon bit at Ryan’s lip, not caring how hard it was, not caring if he bled. He wanted to get Ryan going. He wanted to get Ryan angry. Ryan was normally a pretty chill dude, but something about Brendon got his engine going. Which they both knew couldn’t possibly be healthy, but right now they were rolling off the couch onto the coffee table, still kissing, Brendon’s leg thrown over Ryan’s waist, pushing himself against his hip. Ryan grabbed the back of Brendon’s head and caught his hair in his fist, opening his mouth wide and forcing his tongue as far in as he could before pulling back while catching Brendon’s bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Take me to your bed,” Brendon said, barely breathing. 

They both scrambled to their feet, still kissing, rough and sloppy, shedding their clothes as they went. Right now, there was no time for foreplay. No time for the teasing, the biting, the kissing, the oral. Right now, Brendon needed Ryan to fuck him. And he could tell all Ryan wanted to do was fuck him. 

Throwing a bottle of lube and condom onto the bed, Ryan quickly followed and positioned himself between Brendon’s legs, coating two fingers in lube and pushing them in at the same time, eliciting a yelp from Brendon.

“That okay?” Ryan asked.

“Yes, god, yes it is. Don’t stop.”

Ryan nodded and went back to working on opening Brendon up, pumping in and out fasted and faster, scissoring his fingers apart before adding a third. Brendon could hardly see at this point. He was writhing under Ryan, his hands clutching the pillows and sheets and anything he could grab. Ryan’s name flowed through his lips when Ryan curled his fingers into him, reaching that sweet spot. After a few more final pumps, Ryan pulled his fingers out, and rolled the condom on quickly. A little more lube, and he was inside Brendon.

He didn’t even wait to bottom out before starting to fuck him. Brendon didn’t care at all. He knew this, he knew Ryan. He knew how Ryan fit inside him and how Ryan felt working above him. He knew to wrap his arms around Ryan’s neck and bite at his lip; he knew to reach up and suck dark red marks into Ryan’s neck and shoulder.

It was almost like old times. Almost.

“God, you are _so_ beautiful,” Ryan grunted, moving his hand between them to jerk Brendon off.

“We’re fucking, and we’re gross, and you’re still a poet,” Brendon half-laughed half-moaned.

Usually Ryan would laugh and kiss him, or if he was feeling particularly nasty, he would tell Brendon to shut up. But now was different. He just looked down at Brendon, impossible to read. But the flutter in his eyes before he leaned his head down to rest on Brendon’s shoulder could almost be read as sadness. Almost.

After a few more final thrusts, Brendon was coming apart in Ryan’s hands, almost yelling as Ryan went harder and deeper, his hands leaving bruises on Brendon’s waist as he fucked him.

While he was cumming, Ryan did too, and he swore he heard Ryan say, “I love you, B.” But he couldn’t be sure, with all the blood rushing through his ears, with the sleep deprivation, with the weed. 

Ryan rolled off of him and curled up on his side. Brendon lay there, panting.

“Do you need to go?” Ryan asked, sounding small.

“I might. I didn’t tell Sarah.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Brendon hated seeing Ryan like this. He hated hurting his best friend. But he had to go. The sun was rising and he had to be back before Sarah got up for breakfast.

“I’m sorry, I’ll come back, I promise,” Brendon said, unsure why he said it. 

Ryan nodded.

“You should probably sleep.”

“Probably.”

Brendon smiled and looked at his hands. This feeling could almost be read as love.

Almost.


End file.
